


Skull Full of Roses

by vanterhawk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Dark Past, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Healing, Nightmares, Self-Doubt, Slow Build, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28630764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanterhawk/pseuds/vanterhawk
Summary: The War is over. Draco Malfoy's back from the trials of the Wizengamot and is two weeks behind his Eighth Year semester. So of course, Professor McGonagall, the now Headmistress of Hogwarts, assigns Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of her Year to oversee Draco's supplement classes and ensure smooth studies for NEWT preparation.Amidst all the hate and fight and screaming, can they find redemption for a story they are scripting for themselves?Can love truly triumph over all odds — even when it's a Muggle born and a Pureblood linking hands — setting aside all differences?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Kudos: 3





	1. Graveyard

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Given-Taken by Enhyphen.
> 
> "There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." 
> 
> \- Leonard Cohen.

"Hermione? Hermione? Pumpkin pie, where are you?"

The little girl quietly laughed to herself. They will never find me here.

"Darling? It's getting late dear. Come out now, you won."

The girl looked up at the sky. It was twilight already and slivers of clouds were flitting across the purple sky. It was a strange shade of purple — somewhere between lilac and maybe, calling out to her… that bewitching, star-spangled purple… and almost in a trance, she reached out her tiny hand…

The soft earth shifted beneath and she fell to the side, the cool, dark moss damping her frilly white dress, having been frayed at the edges when she rushed into the unkempt hedges earlier. She tried to get up, pushing the stray hair from off her face, then her hands fell on something. In the dripping dark, she squinted to see what was the smooth, round… and possibly a faint white thing?

"Darling, if you don't come out now…" she could hear the sound of her parents' voice dying in the far distance. She bent lower and… suddenly a blood curdling scream pierced the hypnotic sky and broke whatever spell it was that held her. She jumped up from behind the — wait, where is the wall? I remember there was a low wall and I hid in here. Mindlessly she ran out only to find that it had been no wall at all.

It was but a tomb!

Her eyes strayed to the smooth, round, white thing at her feet and to her utter horror, she could only whisper — "Momma!"

She tried to run but the sickly white, death cold claws clasped at her feet and dragged her down and down… into the earth below… into the unfathomable depths of dank darkness… like Hades who had dragged Persephone into his underground abode…

"Mom, Dad!" She was sobbing. It had surely been her mother's scream earlier. It's all my fault. I should have been a good girl. She went on sobbing.

"Hermione? Hermione, wake up! Wake up Hermione!" Her eyes flitted open, blinking confusedly at the dust motes swirling in the mellow winter sunshine spilling into the room. When reality hit her system like a shocking jolt, she sprang up on the four poster bed, soaked to the bones in what appeared to be tears and cold, clammy sweat. 

"Ginny?" She asked in a voice that she hoped wasn't broken.

"What's wrong, Hermione? Bad dreams? You were weeping and tossing about and muttering all sorts of strange things like someone possessed. I had half a mind to pour water on you and save you from whatever it was that was hounding you like that in your sleep." After a quiet inhale, she looked at Hermione, looking all miserable and wrecked. "Are you ok?" Ginny sat down by her and held up her cold hands, rubbing them together.

"Hey, hey, look at me. Tell me what's wrong." Hermione turned to face the redhead, her eyes still brimming with unshed tears. "I miss my parents. I miss them terribly. It scares me to think that they are alone and unprotected out there, and I can do nothing but be helpless and watch from a distance. What kind of a daughter does that make me? I know the War's over and all but I still can't help be miserable about it. I'm so despicable, aren't I?"

Ginny pulled her into a bear hug and gently patted her. "I understand. It's ok, you know. I feel guilty too of not writing enough letters to my Mum and not asking about how things are back at home. I know George's having it tough with Fred gone now" —her voice broke slightly—"and having to run the joke shop alone. There's this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that I should have just stayed behind, helping them sort out things, instead of just fooling around… it's a strange feeling. The War has changed us all, hasn't it?" 

Hermione had pulled out of the hug to look at Ginny's face and she found a weak smile there. She just nodded, while tracing an infinity loop on Ginny's inner wrist. 

"We all exist with our own scars, I suppose."

Ginny hummed in approval.

"I wish we could change."

After hurriedly dressing up, Hermione came down to the common room, her unkempt hair rebelling against the out-of-place headband (it was the birthday present from her parents for that year), and her robes falling off her shoulder. Her appearance told poorly of her, she reflected, and brought her wand to quickly fix her disarrayed dress. Pulling up her socks, and tying her unruly hair into a loose ponytail, she stowed away her wand in her skirt pocket. Harry and Ron were seated at the couch, eagerly discussing something when Ron spotted her and waved.

"Hey Mi."

Harry, who was seated with his back to Hermione, quickly turned around and gave a sheepish smile, almost knocking the centre table in the process.

"Ow… oh good morning, Hermione."  
Suppressing a smile, she greeted them both and dropped on the couch, by Harry. "Quidditch?"

"Yeah, we were planning out the next practice session." Ron chipped in, delightedly.

"So you're going to be busy." She mused quietly to herself. Something about her drooping form alarmed both her friends.

"Hermione? Is everything alright?" Harry's voice trembled ever so slightly with a suppressed panic. Ron was gripping onto Harry's arm like his very life depended on it. 

She gave a watery laugh. "It's fine, you guys! Why are you all so worried over me? You think I'm going mental, aren't you?" She half-screamed the last line, her hands curled into fists, white knuckled. The boys said nothing.

"Mi, I know that we're probably being very overbearing and maybe this isn't exactly very assuring, but can't you trust us enough?" Ron spoke up, uncharacteristically. "Yeah, Hermione. We're friends." Harry gave a small smile, nudging her by the elbow. With a deep breath, Hermione confessed, "Ok, I'm just going to feel left out again. That's it." She finished with a huff, averting her eyes.

"Mi… we're not going to abandon you!"  
"Yeah, Ron's right. Besides I think both of us could do with a bit of help in our homeworks." Harry smiled sheepishly. "Yes please?" 

Hermione gave a loud laugh, "You two are impossible! Ok, give me your class schedules later so that I can work my time around it and come up with weekend study sessions."

"Thanks Hermione. You are a lifesaver."

"Yeah, yeah I know I am extra nice to you guys and that's why I should give you a header that Professor McGonagall doesn't like people being late to her class, in case you forgot about first year." 

"Oh crap! We totally forgot! Harry, pack your scrolls! We're going to be late!" 

And Hermione left the common room, leaving behind Harry and Ron in a flurry of parchment and writing quills.

When she reached near the Great Hall, she felt a lingering hesitation colouring her footsteps. Was I completely honest with them? Honestly, she didn't even know herself. I feel like I will suffocate. Feelings had never been her forte. She had poured herself in books with a voracity unmatched, consciously distanced herself from all those feelings creeping up from behind, robbed her eyes of colours and blinded them with the dying yellow of parchment. Anything but feelings.

Suddenly very overcome by a fatigue that had more to do with the mind than the body, she slumped by the first statue that she could spot in the deserted corridor. It was still early for breakfast and only a few prefects were on a light patrol. Harry and Ron and several others were already having their extra classes (which took place before the breakfast). These extra classes were designed to help Eight Year students earn extra points for their NEWTs by giving them advanced lessons. Hermione had hers on Thursdays which was tomorrow, so naturally she was free and to her worry addled mind, this looked like an excellent opportunity to have a trip to the library. However, her grumbling stomach made her stay there. It's time for breakfast anyways… suddenly her mind wandered into another bylane, dusty and seldom travelled… to the skeleton that was dragging her down and down and down…

"Look if it isn't, cranky Granger." Hermione snapped out of her reverie. With a jolt, she looked up, her eyes meeting with a towering lean frame.

"Draco Malfoy." It wasn't spiteful or very inclining either. Just a greeting out of bound courtesy, very mechanical and lifeless.

"So now you are hiding behind statues? What happened, War Hero's scared?" He drawled in his trademark sneer, and it seemed to Hermione as if the drafty corridor had grown colder. Upsetting as much as it was to her that she should be still bothered by his words, she sighed and stood up, dusting her skirt. "It's not even eight yet. Can't I expect you to be civil at this hour?" She said almost exasperatedly. Last night had been terrible and she felt like she'd drop anytime what with how the day was beginning. She didn't really feel like having another explanation session, least of them being with none other than bloody Malfoy.

"You are no one to expect anything from me, you filthy Mudblood." Then Draco walked off, his long black robes billowing behind him, giving him a very Snape-like presence. Hermione stayed standing by the statue, staring unblinkingly at his retreating figure, which gave away nothing but hate. Waves of hate and disgust and apathy rolling off him. Unconsciously, her fingers strayed to her inner wrist where the word 'Mudblood' had been branded. It was an angry pink then, blossoming against her sunlight deprived, papery skin. Wincing at the recall of the memory seared at the back of her head like a tattoo, she withdrew her hand and went off to the Great Hall.

She was hungry and needed something healthy to stuff down her throat before she went to Defense Against The Dark Arts. Well it was common sense by then that it was going to be a long and testing day and she needed to quiet down her protesting stomach if she were to make any progress.

DADA was cancelled that day. The reason? The new teacher who was appointed for the post left vacant after Snape's death, had taken ill and won't be able to resume anytime soon (a really great start to a year supposed to be dedicated to NEWT preparation, Hermione sardonically lamented). Well, she'd always felt that the goddamn position was doomed anyways. So now, against her better judgement, she was trudging off to the Astronomy Tower. "On account of unforeseen circumstances, I am afraid that students who have Defense Against The Dark Arts in their curriculum will have to make do without it for the time being, unless we are fully assured that all the classes can be conducted properly. As a safeguard, we suggest you take up the Divination course currently available — and also a part of the many choice subjects that the NEWTs endorse — for it will be another amazing way of earning extra points as well as quality exposure to… anything that you might decide to do in your future. I hope you have a nice day ahead." Professor McGonagall recited to the mass of students at the Great Hall, some of them (including Hermione, Harry and Ron) gaping at the Headmistress.

"The pancakes don't taste so good now." Pansy said, almost balking but really trying not to show.

As the grim news sinked in, the students who had lived the War and have had their fair share of compromise for their lifetime, took in the fact, with a sense of despondence that was unsettling at its best.

So here she was, Hermione Granger heading for the Divination class. Luckily for Ron and Harry, they still had the relief of their DADA class being on Friday. Enough time to gall themselves up, Hermione mused. Her mood surly and grim, she made her way into the cramped overstuffed classroom and settled down at the far end, trying to distance herself from whatever stupidity that awaited her.

The Golden Trio had been officially split into different class schedules, "for they attract too much attention together, making it impossible to proceed with a class without having to tell off starstruck students." Professor McGonagall had told Professor Sprout when she had asked out of utter curiosity. Hermione quietly agreed with the decision. She didn't mind the rare moments of quietude when she wasn't being totally swamped by raving girls or having to worry about Ron spilling ink on his books or Harry writing misspelled words or them bickering and trying to eat her head off… She was thinking all that when suddenly Professor Trelawney burst into the room, her eccentric, patched robes all over the place and hair, not unlike Hermione's, wild and unkempt and pushed up with a bright paisley print scarf. Embodiment of all things loony. Hermione scribbled at the edge of her parchment, finding immense satisfaction at that seemingly idiotic sentence. However her joy was as short-lived as the deceiving summer rains.

Professor McGonagall (again) had entered the room too and along with her was none other than Draco Malfoy, looking pissed off as ever and shooting murderous glances towards Hermione.

Good Godric, what the bloody hell is his problem? Years of being under the influence of the Weasleys had made expletives a very normal way for her dealing with stress. 

Professor McGonagall coughed. "Attention everyone. I have another important announcement to make. Mr. Malfoy, who had been away due to certain reasons —" everyone started whispering.

"Silence!" All the voices went quiet. Hermione could only hear her ragged breath as her sixth sense already anticipated an impending doom. "Naturally Mr. Malfoy has fallen behind his semester. Since the Eighth Years have been specially called upon to prepare for their NEWTs, I expect everyone understands the importance of being up to date with whatever that has been happening since the past two weeks regarding your schedules. As the Headmistress of this school, it is my responsibility to make sure Mr. Malfoy isn't deterred from giving the NEWTs since he has been acquitted of all charges. It would be really helpful if someone stepped up to help him with the notes. Anybody willing, please raise your hand." However no one came up. Who would? No one wanted to be near Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater.  
His expression doesn't help with that too, Hermione thought.

Professor McGonagall's eyes scanned the entire classroom, only to be met with utter disappointment. "It saddens me to see you are still holding on to past grievances and letting them define your present judgement. I understand that forgiveness is difficult but — "

"But Professor McGonagall, he's a Death Eater! He's killed people! He's a murderer!" Someone shouted at the back. Others followed suit.

"Yes ma'am! How do we know he isn't scheming anything again?"

"My parents would rather not like me associate myself with some dirt of a scumbag who's still serving his sentence at Azkaban!

"Send him to where his father is! Send him to Azkaban!"

It was a mess and Professor McGonagall looked clearly flustered. Draco on the other hand, was taking it pretty well, as if this were a mere trifle. To someone else he'd have looked totally composed and fine. However Hermione wasn't a fool to not have seen him flinch when they were hollering about his father — and that was enough.

"Everyone stop it!" She suddenly stood up, sending the chair grate loudly on the floor and the whole class went still. "See, we all know that he was a Death Eater and that he has done unforgivable deeds in the past but it's all different now. I'm sure he had his reasons and the Wizengamot has found sympathy with that and given him a shot at redemption. Shouldn't we trust their decision? After all, isn't this what we fought the War for? To stop ostracizing everyone and giving all a chance to be better? So that no one has to live shamefully? I know nothing of this justifies anything. I know there are many who have lost their loved ones to the cause of the War, and me standing here and blabbing all this doesn't really make anything any better, but…" Hermione paused, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. Everyone was gaping at her like she had suddenly grown two heads. Malfoy, as much as he tried to maintain his composure, couldn't help but be shocked.

"But can't we rise above our pain and sorrow and be more impartial? He has suffered enough and there's probably an inkling of regret lurking in that apparently cruel heart of his, so why don't we give him a chance and see for ourselves if he's really changed for the good? People change, don't they? You are all no better than him, all pouncing on him the first chance you get and creating a ruckus to send him off to Azkaban!" She quieted down, her hands trembling, the blood rushing to her head, making it impossible to look.

What was she doing? Defending the person who had made her life a living hell since they met? Caused her immeasurable hurt, defamed her dignity as a human and repeatedly poked at where it hurt? Suddenly all that didn't even matter anymore. Like every other person suffering, to Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy came off as a victim crushed under the shadow of a past that no one should ever be obliged to — and that's why she stood up to defend his rights because that was just and she'd do her job anyway.

It was Professor McGonagall who broke the haunting silence. She began clapping, the faintest of a smile gracing that stern face of hers.  
"As expected of you, Miss Granger. I'm glad to see that you chose the right thing to do. So I take it that you are best fit to oversee Mr. Malfoy's progress with the semester, Miss Granger? You are after all the Brightest Witch of Your Age, and a very righteous one at that, I must add."

Draco, who had been staring unabashedly at Hermione all this while, wondering if he had heard it all right, suddenly jerked his head around to look at Professor McGonagall. Hermione looked up too, her hazel brown eyes wide.

They both shouted together. "What?"


	2. Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now playing ~>
> 
> "The Day" — PornoGraffiti
> 
> *Note~> *text* implies that the word was emphasized, more like applying italics.

In all his lifetime, if there was something Draco Malfoy was acutely aware of — it was his inability to do things in moderation. Whatever it was that concerned him, had to be done to excess. He believed in his morals to the point of suffocation and loathed with a passion enough to be mistaken for love. However all that was seeming to fall apart. The looking glass through which he saw the world was cracking and in its distorted reflection, all he found was his broken self. He'd trace the various cracks — some small, hairline scratches and some big, gaping, like wounds pouring forth invisible blood — and every time it'd leave him breathless.

There was no beauty in those fractures, no wholeness to belong to and cry for… and yet something swelled in his heart and splinched it all the same. Every time. 

Life had been no better for as long as his remembrance stretched. All he was ever doing was running away.  
Run away from his deepest secrets, nightmares and obligations.  
Run away from the inevitable.  
He was cheating fate itself and it made him laugh bitterly.

'Oh for the love of life…'

He closed his eyes.

And now that he came here, running away from the hands of death, to find refuge in the only place he felt an ironical belonging to, cruel fate imposed itself before him in the shape of an insufferable know-it-all. Hermione Granger, sickeningly righteous to the very core and laughably impossible to deal with. He sardonically lamented to himself, the clear memory of the morning playing before his eyes.

"I am sure he has suffered enough…" her voice still felt unreal to his ears. Tendrils of anger cut through his vision like white-hot knife and in a rare outburst (for Malfoys never yielded to petty things like 'emotions'), he sent the pile of books on his bed down crashing on the floor. He felt childish, belittled, misplaced. He wanted to go on a full blown rampage and tear up everything. Maybe then it'd quiet that thumping heart of his and not make his head reel. Maybe then he'd find peace.

Maybe then he'd have happiness.

His head was spinning and he was having double vision. 'I think I might die.' Swaying dangerously, like a man drunk on the despair of life, he fell down on his sprawling four poster bed. His heart, so very weak and fragile, splintered into countless pieces. He felt like crying, abandoning himself to wild hopelessness. His eyes were stinging, tears threatening to spill over. However he was a Malfoy and before any other traitorous feelings could creep into his system, he brought the large oversized pillow to his face and almost stifled himself to death in a bid to dry up any stray tear that might have escaped.

'Man up, Draco! Why should you be so bothered by what life throws at you? Aren't you a Malfoy? Malfoys are always excellent in self preservation and this rather unfortunate situation is just another opportunity for you to actually stamp out every bit of light from that Mudblood's pathetic life.' He scoffed at his particularly eloquent prep talk.

After another fifteen minutes or so of laying death still on his bed — all the time talking himself into foolish acceptance — he finally hopped up, doing a neat job of wandwork with his ruffled, shaken appearance, leaving behind no traces of an abominable weakness anyone (not even himself) could accuse of.

'Yes Draco, you got it.'

To Draco, his mask of indifference was all that he could put up before himself. It made himself feel whole (no matter how fake)...

… and it didn't hurt to wish on a scar, did it?

Hermione was really not keen about any company right then. All she wanted was some fresh air to clear her head and maybe a couple of uninterrupted hours in the deceiving silence of the Astronomy Tower. Everyone was gone by then — off to their next class — but poor Hermione! She was hunching down on one of the steps of the spiralling staircase, feeling utterly rattled and conflicted. Her conscience knew it was wrong of her to be skipping classes like that but another part of that conscience also knew that she could probably not last the trip down the stairs without sitting down again and breaking into hysterics.

'Why? Why does it have to be me?'

Had she known the Eighth Year was going to be this difficult, she'd have plain dropped out of school and thought of some other alternative. Sighing, she put her head on her folded knees, feeling so exhausted and drained out. By then, maybe everyone knew about her defending Draco and she wondered how Harry and Ron would take it in. Maybe it would be another explanation session. Maybe the Gryffindors would outcast her… She became surprised by her own vacillation. She did no wrong in defending him… 'but why should I be involved with what the hell he does?!'

She didn't know what to make of things — so much for being 'The Brightest Witch of Her Age.' 

'My foot!'

Standing up, she suddenly stormed down the steps, headed off to the Gryffindor common room. 'You need to do something Hermione.'

"Professor McGonagall, please ask Granger to not bother herself with me. I can do my studies fairly on my own." Draco tried to appear as calm and unperturbed as possible, as he stared down at the Professor, seemingly occupied with some official parchments.

"Mr. Malfoy, I know you two share quite an 'amicable' history but sometimes you have to look past petty differences and think about the greater picture —"

"I don't think you follow me. I *am* looking at the 'greater picture' and that's why I am trying to call this off before it gets beyond our hands. I don't want to associate myself with that Muggleborn." Draco's voice was trembling with borderline panic and he knew it reflected poorly of his self-control, but he just couldn't keep still. The bottled anger, frustration seemed to swell within him, blurring his vision again and before it could affect his present judgement, he grabbed onto his robes, his fists white-knuckled with the effort.

Professor McGonagall, as if sensing Draco's discomfiture, looked up from her pile of paperwork. "Mr. Draco Malfoy. I shouldn't have to remind you that you are still not fully acquitted of your deeds by the Wizengamot. Yes, we did tell everyone that you *are* but that's still subject to reconsideration. If you do not show signs of positive development, you'll be open to trials again.

"Miss Granger is the most trusted option we have here! As the Head of this school, it's my duty to safeguard the rights and interests of my students, abiding by the rules and regulations that have been set down. You are no exception, Mr. Malfoy. I can stretch the law only so much that you may be safe but do you not have *any* responsibility? Didn't you see how they reacted? Nobody was willing to believe in you, not even your friends, but Granger. 

"Can't you see —" and her voice dropped, becoming almost a bare whisper, "—that Hermione Granger is your golden ticket to redemption?"   
Draco's eyes suddenly went wide. Suddenly he felt as if the air within the room had grown twice as rarer.  
"What do you mean?" It came out of his hesitant lips, another whisper telling of a creeping fear.

"She's a War Hero. Her background is enough to change the way people think about you *provided* you two co-operate. She's one of them who drafted the new Constitution post War and her word carries far greater significance than any of us! Believe me, Draco! Her testimony bears the power to free you of this pain and sufferance! Just a few days, Draco and you'll be acquitted for your lifetime!"

A chill ran down his spine. Sitting on the armchair, body rigid with an unanticipated shock, he stared at Professor McGonagall in an arrested stance. 

"Look, Draco. Your mother is very worried about you and she has personally asked me to make sure you are safe and well. I'm not being partial in any way. Narcissa is going through so much…" and there was a catch in her voice, "... I'm worried about you too Draco. I know you committed a mistake but you are repenting and I am just trying to help you.

"Think of your mother, Draco. Think of the hopes she has for you. Will you disappoint her too, Draco?" And that was enough. He knew she was referring to that *scumbag* of a father he had and he dropped his gaze. What he didn't know was why he felt flustered — was it anger or embarrassment? 

He stood up with a startle and was about to leave when Professor McGonagall stopped him. "So Mr. Malfoy, shall I assume that you will behave?" She looked over her half-moon glasses, an uncanny glint in her cat-like eyes. 

"Professor McGonagall, please ask Granger when she'd like to start the… whatever it is!" 

She gave a small smile. "I knew you'd come around, Malfoy. Ask Granger to meet me at my office at 5, and you too."

Draco said nothing and stormed out of the office. 

After having steeled herself from whatever accusations people might throw at her, she slowly proceeded towards the Gryffindor Common Room. Before she could utter the password to the Fat Lady, the door swung open and a disheveled Ron stepped out. If Hermione knew any better, he was barely holding it together.

"Mi, why would you do it? Why'd you defend that ferret!" It was more of a demand rather than some accusation and she flinched as Ron's anger spilled over, echoing throughout the hallway. 

"Ron! Control yourself buddy! Let's talk this out calmly. I'm sure she has her reasons…"

"No Harry! Leave me—" Ron pushed away Harry's hands and rushed towards Hermione — his eyes had a craziness akin to that of a wild animal. "Do you always have to be so *bloody* righteous? How can you defend someone who practically *tortured* you!" 

The three of them became still. Harry was gaping at Ron. "Ron you didn't just…

"Hermione! Hermione, wait! I'm sure we can work this out! Hermione!" Harry was running behind her but she never looked back nor did she falter. She hurtled on, her legs carrying her forward as if they had a mind of their own. It surprised her how fast she could run… 'and maybe just like that I can outrun these years too.' 

'Why are you crying, you fool? Why are you crying over his words? Did you like him that much? Did you give him that much strength to hurt you?'

'Didn't you see that coming?' 

Her tears fell endlessly, her heart lurching within her. Her legs, emaciated from all the sudden effort, were feeling limp, jelly-like and she just wanted to fall down and disappear from the surface of the earth and never look at anyone —

"—What the bloody hell is this!" She knew the voice, it was too familiar to be forgotten. That cold, callous drawl… it was none other than Draco Malfoy's. "Granger? Are you crying?" 

For a while, she couldn't believe her ears. 'Is it really him? Why is he here?'

'Why does he care?'

"Granger? You haven't gone mental, have you?" And then more like an afterthought, she could hear him muttering to himself, "Maybe the fall was bad." 

"Fall? Who fell?" She said slowly, her mind hazy with zillions of thoughts spinning in there. 

Draco was marching down the deserted hallway, the words of Professor McGonagall still ringing in his ears.

'Think of your mother, Draco. Think of the hopes she has for you. Will you disappoint her, Draco?'

And suddenly the anger, the deep buried denial dissolved, melting away into nothingness. It's true he was being very selfish, wasn't he? He was walking under the same shadow of his *bastard* father. How could he let her down too? Ever since he could perceive things, he has seen how his mother lived each day. Always precariously on the edge of a knife. One trip and down you went. She did put up a tough front but he *knew*. He knew she was dying within everyday and he also knew that he was eating away at her life. He made her life for him, he made her suffer because of his inability. Redemption? He wanted to laugh. Did he even deserve it? 

He knew she was risking her life trying to protect him and he felt ashamed of himself. Here he was — a coward hiding from the reality, deliberately averting his eyes and wrongfully holding onto petty grievances. 

'Pathetic. You are so pathetic!'

He was relatively calmer, his anger having subsided, and his emotions were mostly tinged with the lingering thoughts that the voice within a city at sunset tells of — vignettes of a day having gone by, a bittersweet aftertaste in the mouth. He realised he was wiser and that dealing with Granger didn't even seem so much of a problem. All he needed to do was hold his ground and not sway. 

'Yes Draco. Then Mother won't have to worry…' He was lost in his newfound epiphany, his eyes fixed on the floor when suddenly someone collided with him. 

"—What the bloody hell is this!" 

Owing to his Seeker reflexes, he was jolted out of his limbo and almost unthinkingly, he reached out his hands, trying to steady the other person but then he saw the face and for a while she was unrecognisable but it hit him. 

'Wait, what? Granger?' 

The shock was so utter that his weight gave in and down he went, along with her, on the floor, scattering her parchments in the air. The dust pushed up in his nose and he was sneezing. Well he was allergic to dust and he hadn't cast the anti-allergy spell earlier in the morning because he was too *occupied*. To save him the embarrassment, he quickly coughed up the spell and for the time being it was good enough for damage control. He really hoped she hadn't noticed because nobody knew about it other than his mother and he'd rather die than have people know about his weakness. His prayers seemed to have been answered for there she was — Hermione Granger sprawled confusedly on the floor, blinking stupidly at him… "Granger? Are you crying?"

'Merlin, she *is* crying.'

Her swollen, red rimmed eyes looked at him and he couldn't quite place it. Why would she cry? Was it because of what happened in the morning? Well he wasn't expecting to be affected by whatever it was that concerned her but then it's not like he wanted anyone to cry over him, especially *Mudblood* out of all the people. He was beyond pity, at least that was what he believed. No one asked her to stand up for him and he wasn't looking for cheap pity and he was grumpy because now he was indebted to her. 

However he was kind of relieved. Relieved that after all this, she'd regret her decision. That she'd see through the fallacy of her misplaced optimism and come around to her spiteful self. Then they had nothing on each other and they would go back to being what they should be — sworn enemies — and not two helpless, forlorn beings shunned by the society and herded in misfortune.

He realised she was still staring at him. He was half-thinking it was probably a case of concussion but then she could have been temporarily shocked too. 'She didn't hit her head… right?'

"Granger? You haven't gone mental, have you?" Then he suddenly muttered to himself, "Maybe the fall was bad." 

"Fall? Who fell?" She suddenly spoke, her throat thick and croaky. 

"Bloody Merlin, I terribly hope Granger that you are regretting your decision. It's really no great deal if you want to call it quits right now because I get it that it's difficult for you —"

"Malfoy? Who fell?"

"Seriously? You slammed into me, do you remember? Or were you so really out of it? Gosh! Why do I even care? Here, come on. I think I'm having a concussion right now too. Come, I think you need some space to clear your head. You want to go to the library?" He didn't even know what he was saying at that point but as he said, *maybe* it was really a concussion or some tiny speck of guilt or some of that gloating sense of self-esteem. Nonetheless, he helped her up.

However suddenly she flew into a rage and shoved away his hands. Fresh tears rolling down her flushed face and hair all wild and everywhere, she was looking like a nightmare waiting to unleash. "I never asked for your help! Why, you pity me? It's fun for you, isn't it? I'm not some punchbag for people to come vent their feelings at! I'm a human too! And I have feelings too! Why do I have to be looking like some damsel in distress waiting for help?" She was more like a sobbing mess at this point and if there was anymore that she wanted to say, it got swallowed in those sobbings. 

Draco was shell-shocked. Before he could even react, she went off, not bothering to pick up her scattered parchments lying about on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my updates are pretty slow but I'm trying to keep it monthly (really sorry for that). I'm still new with tags and stuff and it'd be really helpful if someone told me how to make the text italics (・_・;). Thanks again for staying till the end ( ◜‿◝ )♡! I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> It turned out a bit dark but I can assure it will get brighter gradually. Thanks for hanging around!


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